


but first it has to be night

by summerstorm



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Death Fix, F/F, Gen, M/M, Multi, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Vicki doesn't die: scenes from an unfinished ensemble fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elena, Vicki

**Author's Note:**

> Most chapters are G-PG; the one this is marked explicit for is chapter 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicki gets her daylight trinket.

**I**

The drive to the hospital is unsettling, Jeremy's eyes trained on Elena's neck, the splash of blood on the sleeve of her nurse costume, the fixed expression on her face. She only looks at him at red lights, in the rearview mirror, because she can bear the weight of his stare but she can't take any questions, can't answer them right now, can't answer them at all. The steady roll of pain from the gash in her arm reminds her to keep going; if she only thinks about getting to the ER right now, she can push through everything else, come back when she doesn't feel like she's been shaken into pieces. There's a first-aid kit at home, she could deal with this there, but she doesn't want Jenna asking questions until she's settled and can give a coherent story, something that doesn't sound suspicious, terrifying or like an enormous lie, something Jeremy won't give away with an eyeroll or some other show of incredulity. He's angry, she gets that, but she can't afford any misguided retaliation right now. Driving straight is taking up all of her brain power.

"Careful," Jeremy says, kindly enough that she frowns at it. The tank top they found in the backseat and used to stop the bleeding has come loose. "Keep your eyes on the road," he says, and sets about turning it inside out and tying it around her arm again, tighter. 

First thing in the morning, she's getting a first-aid kit to keep in her car. She's seen the bite marks on Caroline and the animal attack reports, she's seen Vicki in a hospital bed and now, tonight, out of control. She can't be sure none of this will happen again.

"Just let me drive," he says when he's done. "At least I'm not bleeding."

"You can't drive," Elena says, her voice steely with determination. He doesn't know how to; she doesn't care if Vicki's let him drive her around or if he got a few lessons from her dad before—before the accident. He doesn't know how to and she doesn't need him to try. As long as she's focused on this she doesn't have to think about anything else, like how her little brother just found out there are real monsters out there, just months after he found out there was death.

Walking into the ER numbs her down after putting all her concentration toward not crashing her car. After a thorough cleaning of her wound, she barely feels the stitches. There aren't many anyway; the wound is deep but narrow, a gaping slash from the broken-off end of a sign post Stefan stuck through Vicki—metal, not wood, she's not dead, she's not dead and that's the only reason Jeremy listened to Elena when she told him to run.

 

**II**

Elena kneels down on the floor, a few inches away from Vicki. The tile is cold and deeply clean under her, like in every other hospital room like the one Vicki's hidden in. She wants to reassure Vicki, and a part of her is saying that it doesn't matter how close she is, Vicki could pounce on her in a heartbeat even if she was all the way across the room, but she can't help the wariness, can't help the distance. 

Vicki looks up with a scowl. "I'm not going to eat you."

"Were you trying to kill Jeremy?" Elena says, doing her best to keep her voice matter-of-fact instead of accusatory. It works about as well as can be expected.

"Whatever," Vicki says, drawing her head down.

"You're wearing rings."

"No shit," Vicki says, glancing up at Elena's face again.

Elena lets it go. "I called Stefan. He said you can't borrow a piece of jewelry, it has to belong to you. How many of those belong to you?"

"Like," Vicki says, stretching out the word, brows furrowing into a confrontational look, "how many did I pay for, or, what, how many did I steal?"

Elena doesn't have time for this. "I don't think it matters how you got them as long as you think of them as yours."

The metal gleams with short bursts of light when Vicki lifts her arm, high enough that the sunlight brushes her knuckles and her hand jerks back, down to her ankle. Vicki breathes—vampires breathe; Elena smiles slightly, because it's the only way she can deal with it. They don't need to, but the motor functions are left over, and it's self-preservation, too—blending in. She wonders if vampires can tell each other apart from humans, if their blood smells different, or their breathing sounds different, or if they blend in in that regard, too.

But right now Vicki breathes because she was human until just three days ago, and Elena feels another wave of grief wash over her. It's not Vicki's fault Damon's... who he is. It's definitely her fault she's kind of an asshole, and it's not like that's new, but given the circumstances, Elena finds herself leaning towards sympathy.

When Vicki moves her hand again, it's not to look at her rings; she touches it to her collarbone. Her middle finger strokes the chain of the necklace she's wearing, softly tracing it down her chest until she can hold the pendant between her thumb and forefinger. She turns it over, biting the side of her lip, eyes idle on her knees. It's a simple necklace—a charcoal gray snake chain giving way to a wire-wrapped purple gem, subtle, inexpensive, but it suits her, and Elena vaguely recognizes it. She thinks Matt might have given it to Vicki; it's entirely possible Elena was there when he bought it, too.

It's good. It would work, Elena thinks. She nods at Vicki, trying to reassure her without spooking her.

"I hope you're not planning to turn this into some monstrosity I can't be seen wearing in public," Vicki says, but her anger sounds like a front now.

"It will look exactly the same," Elena says, and after a few seconds, reluctantly, Vicki pulls the necklace off over her head and holds it out in her hand.

 

**III**

Elena doesn't know how Stefan convinced Bonnie's grandma to help out Vicki, but whatever he did, he didn't do a very thorough job of it, judging by the string of reservations Sheila rattles off as soon as she arrives in the hospital.

For a second, Elena thinks that's it; they're leaving Vicki in a building full of blood bags and blood IVs and bleeding people, helpless to sort things out until sunset. Elena doesn't know much about vampires, but she knows she saw Vicki almost eat Jeremy just two nights ago. Letting her roam around freely in the daylight may not be a great idea, but it's a better one than leaving her here so she can, what? go on a killing spree until someone is forced to stake her? "She's not going to abuse her freedom."

"What the hell do you know about me?" Vicki says, her voice a breathy hiss. Stefan looks away like he's trying not to roll his eyes.

Sheila raises her eyebrow. "That is a great question, darling," she says, eying Stefan with an amused glint in her eye.

"I know that if she can't get out, she might as well be dead," Stefan says, his tone firmer this time. Vicki retreats further into the corner, arms around her knees. Her eyes shift from the floor to Stefan and back again, over and over. She doesn't speak. 

When Sheila replies, it's to Elena. "Honestly, I'm surprised you don't want her dead."

"I—" Elena shrugs, shaking her head, pressing her lips together. Vicki's dangerous; Elena knows it first hand, and a second-hand that might as well be first given she had to get involved, given it was Jeremy at stake. Vicki was never that stable when she was human; there's no saying she's not going to blow up now, again. But she can't—she can't take that step. She's known Vicki as long as she's known Matt. Matt couldn't stand to lose her. Jeremy shouldn't have to, not so soon after the accident. In the short term, maybe it would be good, safer, but Elena knows he'd never see it that way, whether or not she told him the truth. "I don't want her dead. It's not fair to Matt. It's not fair to my brother. And it's—" She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, saying quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, "It's not fair to her. It's not fair to expect something from someone if you never even give them a chance."

"Fairness, huh?" Sheila says, thoughtfully hollowing her cheeks. "So is—this ring giving her a chance? Letting her go out and make a mess?"

"She wouldn't," Elena says, eying Vicki sharply. "She wouldn't, because that would expose her, and I... think self-preservation would kick in. Stefan?"

"Look," Stefan tells Sheila, "I know she's not stable. But I'll be there, every day, every minute I will be there to make sure nothing bad happens until she gets used to this. This is not someone who's lived a hundred years—she's eighteen. She never made a conscious decision to turn. And she's here, she's here because she hasn't turned off her humanity; she could have, but she didn't." He looks at Vicki. "You don't want to be like Damon."

Vicki bites her lip and looks at Elena, searching for something. Elena doesn't even know what Vicki wants from her, but she nods, because that's what she's been doing for the past two hours, blindly approving, hoping she's right, that this is really the smaller evil, the least harmful path to take. 

It seems to be the right thing; Vicki turns to Stefan again, sparing a quick, jittery glance at Sheila, and mirrors Elena's nod. "I don't—" she begins, unsteady. She tries again: "I don't want to kill anybody." The words come out hoarse, close-teethed unwilling, laced with an insecurity that makes Elena feel instantly more optimistic; it's a familiar tone, a tone she's heard before, from Matt, so many times. It's a tone that's sure of its meaning but wishes it didn't have to be spelled out, that there were no reason to believe anything but what's being said. 

"That doesn't mean she'll be able to help herself," says Sheila.

"It's really fucked up that you're all talking about me when I'm right here," Vicki points out.

Stefan looks from Sheila to Vicki and back again. His tone is even, firm, no-nonsense when he says, "Sheila."

"Fine," Sheila says.


	2. Elena, Matt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I mean," Matt begins, and shrugs, mouth closing and opening again. "I don't want to—I don't know if I'm worrying because I don't know how to do anything else at this point, but there's something weird going on. She's—Vicki, she's been sneaking out at odd hours. I haven't asked her about it because she's gone through a lot and I don't want her to feel like she can't trust me. But I'm worried."

"Was that Vicki?" Matt says, and Elena nods absent-mindedly, scrolling through the texts on her phone. "What's going on? Elena?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Matt begins, and shrugs, mouth closing and opening again. "I don't want to—I don't know if I'm worrying because I don't know how to do anything else at this point, but there's something weird going on. She's—Vicki, she's been sneaking out at odd hours. I haven't asked her about it because she's gone through a lot and I don't want her to feel like she can't trust me. But I'm worried."

Elena shifts her focus to him, now; it would be unfair to mumble through this conversation. "It's not what you think," she tries. It's vague and vague is bad, she'd hate it if she were in Matt's position, but it's not her place to tell him his sister's a—a vampire now. For one, he would probably think Elena's crazy.

Matt's eyes widen almost imperceptibly—Elena wouldn't have noticed if it had happened seconds ago—and he says, "Are you—are you hooking up with my sister?" His mouth stays half open once the words are out, like he's too perplexed to remember to close it.

"No," Elena says immediately, loud and clear. "No, of course not." She's not lying; Matt doesn't want to know if Elena kissed her sister, or even if Elena had had sex with Vicki—that's not information he would be entitled to. But he's not asking about that. He's asking about a continued relationship, something he would be aware of under any other circumstances, something his sister would have had to deliberately hide from him. So no, Elena is not hooking up with Vicki. "This isn't really about anything like that," she adds, careful to keep her tone light.

Matt draws his lips into a tight line, looking at Elena with dubious eyes. "I know I don't have a say in who you date, but if it's my sister—I want to know what's going on with her. If there's any reason she's not telling me—I don't want her to feel like she can't tell me because of our history. I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me either. I can handle it. I'm a big boy, Elena." A little smile blooms around the corners of his lips, but that doesn't mean he's not serious. Elena knows him, has known him all her life, and she can tell that he means every word.

Her shoulders rise close to her ears while she tries to think of a way to explain what's going on. Matt has been extra protective of Vicki since Damon screwed up and drained Vicki's friends; he has been trying to keep tabs on her and make sure he knows where she is as often as possible. 

"I'm not sleeping with anyone right now. I can tell you that much," she says. "I can't tell you what's going on, but it's not what you think. And you shouldn't worry about it."

"That's what people say when there's something to worry about."

Elena sighs. "I'm dealing with it."


	3. Anna, Jeremy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna sighs, still quiet. After a few seconds, she bites her lip and looks up. "See, there's this guy I like."

Anna keeps sneaking looks at him while she browses through books on the library shelf. It doesn't bother him, exactly, but it's really making him wonder if he's done something or if he looks weird, so eventually he says, "Is something wrong?"

Anna sighs, still quiet. After a few seconds, she bites her lip and looks up. "See, there's this guy I like," she says, and Jeremy feels relief burst in his chest, "and he can't possibly have misconstrued my flirting as anything else, but he's not doing anything about it. At first I thought he might be shy—" She raises her eyebrows at him, and he smiles. "—but now I'm starting to wonder if he's even interested. But he hasn't _told_ me he's not interested, and he seems to enjoy my company, so it's pretty hard to tell. So should I stop? What do you think?" 

He looks at her, overwhelmed by affection all of a sudden, and says, "Well, if you want to know, there's this girl who I really like, too, even though she thinks she's a lot funnier than she really is, and apparently needs everything spelled out, but I don't know. Does she _really_ —" 

"I think she does," Anna says, cocking her head. 

"Doesn't that kill the fun of it? Spelling it out?"

She goes on her tiptoes and, grazing his jaw with her knuckles, brushes her lips to his, soft and telling, enough to make him lose track of the point. When she stands back on her heels, she bites her lip and says, "Does it?" 

"Guess not," he says, and kisses her again.


	4. Tyler, Jeremy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not!fic (well, a fight between Tyler and his dad that's all dialogue) + shamelessly messy Jeremy/Tyler porn. Anna makes an appearance, because they're all in a poly relationship. THIS CHAPTER IS EXPLICIT.

"There have been rumors that the mayor's son is having trysts with some kid," Tyler's dad says.

Tyler rolls his eyes. "I'm a kid; what kind of age bracket do you want me to have 'trysts' with?" 

"Do not talk back at me, Tyler." 

Tyler lifts his hands, as a sort of peace offering, eyes wide and unable to hide how confrontational he feels about all this. It's not his dad's business who he fucking sees. It's bad enough that he doesn't even fucking know what he's doing; the last thing he needs is his dad questioning it for all the messed up reasons he usually questions things. 

"Do you have any idea how the things you do reflect on me? You're not some random teenager. You're not your friend Matt or that druggie sister of his; you have a name, you have a reputation to preserve." 

"You kind of lost me there when you insulted my friends." 

"Is that what he is? Or is he some kind of experiment?" 

Tyler's mouth falls open. "What? Are you— What the hell, dad?" 

That's when his mom walks in. "Are you all right here?" 

"We're fine, Carol." 

"Yeah, dad was just telling me how I'm not allowed to choose my own friends." 

"I never said a word about Matt, Tyler." 

"Except for how you just did."

"Tyler," his mom says, in that don't provoke him, you know how he gets way, which is—it shouldn't fucking be that way. 

"I don't care who you're friends with." 

"Well, you seem to care a lot about who people think I'm friends with." 

"I have a right to be concerned if my son is sneaking boys into his bed right under my nose!" 

"So, let me get this—" He doesn't say the word straight because it makes him more uncomfortable than he is angry. "What's the problem: age, gender, class? Should I just sit around and wait for you guys to send me a tux and a betrothed?" 

"Don't bring your mother into this." 

"No, seriously, dad, tell me, because I don't know. What's the problem? Is it your reputation? Do you have any plans to ask who I'm seeing? Maybe I'd tell you." 

"Don't you realize I don't want to know who you're seeing? I just want you to stop." 

"Why? You should know why if you're going to ask me that. They're not on drugs. They don't lie to me. What's the problem, that he's fifteen? That she's a vampire?" 

His mom startles at that. It's about time she startles at something. "What is he talking about, Richard?" 

"Dad here just hears things, but he has no idea what's going on and he doesn't even fucking care." 

"Don't you dare," his dad says, hand curled tight around itself. 

"Richard." 

"Carol, please leave." 

"Richard..." 

"No, I'm the one who's leaving," Tyler says, grabbing something off somewhere, "and by the way, if I were you, I'd be a little more honest with my kid about what kind of freak-ass supernatural genes I'm passing on to them."

He leaves in a huff, takes his car, and ends up at Jeremy's house. Jeremy opens the door, and Tyler walks in before he can run in the other direction, closing the door behind himself. He leans back and he has no idea what he's doing or why he's here or what he wants to do, he just knows that he feels better all of a sudden, with Jeremy looking at him with concerned eyes and Anna walking out of the kitchen. There's a little blood on the corner of her lips that she rubs off with her pinky, sucking it into her mouth. "Hey, Tyler." 

"What's going on?" Jeremy says, looking between Tyler and Anna. 

"I don't think he wants to talk about it."

And Tyler really doesn't. Jeremy reaches out and Tyler grabs his hand; he twines their fingers together, looking at them the whole way. It strikes him that it's actually the first time he's held his hand since they started fucking—the first time he's held a dude's hand, and half of him wants to throw up, and the other half feels a weird sense of pride, like, fuck everything else, there's nothing wrong with this. It'd be weirder if he held Anna's. 

then he walks Jeremy up to his bedroom. They're halfway up the stairs when Jeremy mentions Anna. Who's still downstairs, standing at the foot of the staircase.

She looks up at them with an amused smile. "I don't mind leaving you two alone." Tyler shakes his head and grunts out a thanks, looking away and dragging Jeremy up. "I'll be down here if you need anything," she adds, her voice registering as little more than a whisper in Tyler's ears, footsteps wandering into the kitchen. 

Before he opens the door to his bedroom, Jeremy asks, "What's wrong?"

Tyler just shrugs. He can't really say anything about it, can't say why he's mad or what he's doing here. Unlike all those things, even though he can't say what he wants, he can do it—push Jeremy in, leave the door open—there's no one home but Anna anyway. He can take Jeremy's clothes off and touch every inch of his skin, climb over him, kiss him, feel his chest under his hands, his abs, his nipples going stiff between his fingers. He brackets Jeremy's narrow hips with his hands and trails clumsy, open-mouthed kisses down his body until he's kneeling down at the foot of his bed and all he can do is look up, stare up at Jeremy. 

He wants to remind himself that he doesn't keep falling in bed with this kid by accident, that he likes Anna a lot but she's not the reason he's screwing Jeremy Gilbert. He's in this because for some godforsaken reason sometimes he looks at Jeremy and wants to punch him, and sometimes he looks at Jeremy and wants to kiss him, or touch him or get him off. 

Right now, he wants to suck his cock and he wants to take it slow, spread Jeremy's legs, and lick him soft, tasting him, until Jeremy's shaking and asking for more, but there's a disconnect between his brain and his patience and all he can do is get rid of Jeremy's underwear gracelessly, grip his knees like he's going to vanish if Tyler doesn't hold on. Tyler swallows him down immediately, and it takes him a good minute to talk himself into pulling off just to say, to ask Jeremy to warn him—"Before you come," he explains, and Jeremy says, "What?" right over Tyler adding, "Want it on my face." 

Jeremy doesn't say anything after that, but the silence is acknowledgment enough, and after a pretty short time, Jeremy yanks at Tyler's hair and Tyler gives him a long last suck before pulling off him and closing his eyes. 

"Fuck, Tyler, you look," Jeremy begins, but he doesn't finish his sentence before he spills over Tyler's half-open mouth, his cheeks, his chin. Tyler darts his tongue out around his lips, but it's a dazed, half-assed effort, a fleeting thought in the back of his mind drowned by everything else he wants to do.

Tyler doesn't even know how he manages to stand, but seconds later he's on his back in Jeremy's bed. "Mark me," he pants, "Fuck me," and there's time for Jeremy to recover while they take off Tyler's clothes, time while Tyler gets on all fours and lubes himself up and then grabs Jeremy's hand and puts it on his ass, actually saying, "Please," until Jeremy gets the hint and takes over, fingers him long and hard and a little shell-shocked at first. Soon enough Jeremy's going with it, though, his nails rough on Tyler's hips, scratching, and his cock sliding in torturously slow, making Tyler rock back, "For fuck's sake, Gilbert, fuck me." Jeremy swallows, audible even over the numb ringing in Tyler's ears, and fucks him in earnest, holding absolutely nothing back. 

The first few thrusts burn a little and Tyler revels in it, revels in the pain because more than anything else this is what he's accepting about himself, the pain of changing, of not fitting the backwards idea of man he's been taught all his life. There's a pride in that, in giving that easy façade up, in opening himself up to hurt and rage and disappointment because he trusts Jeremy, and he trusts Anna, and he doesn't have to keep any walls up with them, or talk if he doesn't want to, or act like a fucking douchebag to earn their respect. He can walk in and hold onto them, he can trust them to give him what he needs, and he can just moan and not care how he sounds, how fucking needy he sounds, crying out when Jeremy finds the right angle, panting on all fours, on his forearms after his wrists give, his forehead buried in Jeremy's pillow. 

He's sweating like a pig, there's come drying on his cheek and his mouth tastes like dick, and all he can think about is how he's supposed to ask Jeremy to come on his back when Jeremy's curled over him and has an arm around his stomach and is swearing like a whisper into the back of Tyler's neck in between bites, hard bites because he knows grazing Tyler's skin with his teeth will fade in seconds. He's not even touching Tyler; he's just fucking him and holding him and every time Tyler's cock brushes Jeremy's arm, it honest-to-god twitches and, as much as Tyler wants to accept this, there's a part of him that still feels humiliated as hell by the way he's acting, so fucking embarrassed but entirely devoid of any drive to stop it. 

It takes Jeremy slowing down for Tyler to listen, and when he does, Jeremy's saying, "How much—how much do you want me to mark you?" Tyler rolls his hips back hard, trying to get the rhythm back. He feels like he's about to explode or collapse; he can't concentrate on words. "I can hurt you," Jeremy says, and Tyler tries to keep breathing, to keep his body going as far as it will go.

Then, Jeremy says, in a voice that's a reluctant suggestion, "I can come on you again," and fuck, Tyler's coming on the spot, his mouth open and his hips still moving. Jeremy's saying, "Okay, okay," over and over like he's gearing up for something, which becomes obvious when Jeremy holds Tyler's hips in place and pulls out, and just seconds later a few hot streaks of come hit Tyler's lower back, followed immediately by one of Jeremy's massive hands spreading it over. 

Tyler gives his knees a break, tries to stretch out, lie down on his belly. He's still shuddering when he settles, waves starting in his stomach and stretching along his muscles, like tightness being released as Jeremy's knuckles knead into his back. 

"I'm not moving," Tyler warns Jeremy, and Jeremy snorts out a tired, dry laugh.

"Wasn't planning to kick you out," Jeremy says.

Tyler would nod, but his head isn't cooperating, so he just says, "Good," and later, "Did Anna leave?"

"Do you want her to leave?" Jeremy says. Tyler shrugs.

When Anna comes up, all Tyler hears her say is, "Oh, that's gross."

"You try getting him in the shower."

"I can hear you people," Tyler says.

"And I don't like your tone," Anna says, but then there's a weight on the bed, the mattress giving sideways, and small fingers trailing the sweaty dip of his back all the way down to his thighs, occasionally poking certain spots that make Tyler wince, bruises. "Whatever this was for, I think you made your point."

"Awesome," Tyler says, his voice flat, and promptly falls asleep.


	5. Vicki, Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicki and Tyler dance together at the Miss Mystic Falls ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially nsfw, all talk.
> 
> Context: Vicki's friends with Caroline! Plus being a vampire takes care of a lot of her financial problems, and based on the S1 episode with the founders' party, I'd say she wouldn't turn down the invitation.

Vicki probably shouldn't take advantage of the forced intimacy of dancing to prove a point, but she's bored and it's Tyler and there is this fingerprint bruise down his collar clear as day, staring at her. She doesn't know how else she could possibly respond to that kind of provocation.

"You two are so obvious," she says, matter of fact.

"We two as in..." Tyler says, raising an eyebrow.

"You and Gilbert," she clarifies. His mouth scrunches up in that condescending you're blabbering nonsense way it does when you catch him off guard, which is exactly what she was expecting him to do. One of her hands is on his shoulder, so it's really pretty natural to slide it around to his back until she can press her fingertips into the base of his neck. Tyler winces almost instantly, his shoulders jerking. "So easy," she says, a little awed. 

"What are you talking about?" he grits out, grabbing her hand and dragging it back to the outer, safer part of his shoulder. She rolls her eyes, but complies.

"Jeremy. He makes everything so obvious. Look at you." She moves her other hand to his hip and feels for his hipbones. Tyler looks like he's trying to look unaffected, but his eyes narrow anyway, and his nostrils flare a little, and it is so obvious. "So is this from holding you down or from sucking?"

Tyler stares at her almost blankly for a few seconds. She can't tell if he's shocked or pretending to be appalled or what, but it's kind of hysterical. "What?"

"Jeremy," Vicki reminds him. She's pretty sure it explains everything.

Tyler blinks like he's deciding whether it's worth lying. It appears that it is, which is dumb; Vicki's not going to judge him for this. Not really. "I really don't know what you're getting at."

Vicki licks the inside of her upper lip and cocks her head. "I fucked Jeremy. A whole bunch of times. And look, I know you think you're being subtle about this sharing Anna thing you and Gilbert are doing, but you're not. And I know you think nobody can tell that you're also fucking each other, and you're probably right there, but I know how Jeremy works. He's a possessive little bitch. He likes to mark people."

"He doesn't..." Tyler begins, shaking his head before he catches himself and stops.

"I don't know if he doesn't do it to Anna or if it doesn't show on her, but if that's what you're going on, you really shouldn't." Vicki clears her throat. "Besides, didn't you notice? When we were together?"

"Notice what?"

Vicki laughs. "The bruises, the hickeys. Jeremy always sucked on my hipbones before he went down on me. At first I thought it was just a misguided way of teasing me but no, if he's into you, he's so into you he actually has to stop and breathe or he goes into overdrive about getting to eat you out. Or suck your dick, whatever. And he holds your hips down, and he bites all over like a fucking cat and—" She tilts her head, hums calmly through her nose. The look on Tyler's face couldn't be better—his mouth is hanging half open like he wants to say something, deny all of this maybe, and his eyes are halfway between wary narrow and wide open. Vicki smiles and finishes, "—and you know all this already so I don't know why you're making me tell you. I'm happy you guys have worked things out. Sex is way less dangerous than punching. Especially when the strength balance is skewed."

She can see Tyler's teeth slide together, like he's holding something back, but then he just lets out a silent, resigned laugh and pulls her closer. "This is really uncomfortable," he says near her ear, looking over her shoulder. He's probably just trying to avoid looking at her. 

She snorts. "Speak for yourself; I'm having a blast."


	6. Vicki, Caroline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicki and Caroline's first kiss! At/right after the Miss Mystic Falls ball.

After the party's moved almost entirely outside the house, Vicki spots Caroline leaning against the stairway railing, where the five girls who were competing for Miss Mystic Falls stood earlier today. Caroline smiles softly at her, enough for Vicki to know it wouldn't be presumptuous to meet her upstairs. There's still music drifting in from outside, and Vicki realizes she promised Caroline she'd dance with her, later, when there weren't so many people around to witness that particular disaster.

"Do you still want to dance?" Vicki says, resting her hand on the railing for lack of a better place. She almost steps into Caroline's space, cups her hips, but they're still in that stage where it's all new and exciting and awkward. Caroline seems to have loose enough boundaries when it comes to touching the people she's dating, even after what Damon did to her; Vicki doesn't want to overstep them.

Caroline lets out a single, breathy laugh. "I'm actually really, really tired," she says, which explains the note of exhaustion in her breath, the resignation. Vicki finds herself smiling, and Caroline must misinterpret it as something other than fondness, because she adds, "I'm not trying to blow you off, I swear; it's just these shoes are really uncomfortable and I've been on my feet all day and they're killing me."

"It's," Vicki begins before Caroline's done, and then, "it's fine. It's not like I've suddenly developed good coordination. Your toes would have been in serious danger."

"No, that is such a lie," says Caroline, returning Vicki's smile now, still sounding amused, but not so much resigned. "Just because you haven't been trained by the historical preservation society to reenact an 1860s ball doesn't mean you can't dance. I'm taking you up on this." She shuffles her feet, and hisses in pain. "Later. I'm totally taking you up on this; it just will happen later."

"Okay," Vicki allows. They stand in silence for a few seconds; Vicki starts to tap her knuckles on the railing just to do something.

"Well," Caroline finally says, vaguely pointing her thumb at the hallway behind her, "I should go change." She bites her lip, still looking at Vicki; something about it makes Vicki focus, really focus on Caroline. When Caroline moves to leave, Vicki feels almost like she's in a haze, like they're in an enclosed space instead of the open upper floor of the house.

"Caroline," Vicki calls out, when Caroline's barely taken two steps further away.

Caroline turns around immediately, her lips mouthing a yeah that makes it out seconds later as, "Yes."

It only takes two seconds to undo the new distance between them, but it's a little bit longer before Vicki settles on something to do. At first, she just looks flickeringly at Caroline, gaze shifting from her eyes to her mouth until it pauses at her wrist. She reaches for Caroline's hand, lacing their fingers together. It's easier then to lift her free hand to Caroline's face, and that contact is all the confirmation Vicki needs to lean in and kiss her.

Caroline smiles against Vicki's lips; it seems almost giddy. It's a comfortable kiss, not deep, closer to chaste than most kisses on the mouth Vicki's given or received in her life, but it feels good like this, just their mouths sliding together and Caroline's body drifting closer to hers. Every few kisses, Caroline's smile widens again, and eventually she just laughs, all breath.

Vicki pulls back just to say, "I'm trying to sweep you off your feet here, don't laugh at me." It would probably be more effective if she could keep the corners of her mouth from curling up.

"I'm not laughing," Caroline says. As she speaks, her smile does actually fade — not in a bad way; the look in her face turns intense, wanting.

It catches Vicki off guard, and she draws back unconsciously. Caroline allows the pause, watches Vicki for a moment like she's trying to understand. Then she holds Vicki's waist, steps closer, and kisses Vicki again.

It's different this time, lips parting and Caroline's hands rubbing Vicki's sides, edging just high enough to be appropriate in public, even though there's no one around to see them. Vicki feels comfortable and kind of drunk, dazed enough that they've been kissing for a while when she remembers her arms and touches Caroline again, curling a hand around her shoulder and stroking fingers across the back of her neck. They move lazily enough that when Caroline slows down further, it almost feels like they're kissing in slow motion.

Breaking apart, Caroline smiles and licks her lips. All Vicki can do is stare, openly, at her mouth, still caught in the moment, still holding onto Caroline's neck even though Caroline's taken her hands off Vicki.

"And now," Caroline begins to say, and Vicki steps back so she can take in Caroline's face, the look between amused and apologetic. There's a second where they both linger like that, and then Caroline tries again, her voice hoarse: "And I am now going to change." She doesn't move.

"Go for it," Vicki agrees, but she doesn't move either. Caroline's skin is warm and soft under her palms, and there is a lot of it before her dress begins. It's pretty distracting.

"Yeah," Caroline says, licking her lips again. She bends her elbows to grab Vicki's wrists, drag them quietly off her. "Wanna come with?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Vicki says. 

Caroline laughs again. "I'm still driving you home, though."

"I'll meet you at the car," Vicki says, and Caroline finally walks away.


End file.
